


et soupire, tour à tour

by TrekFaerie



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Femdom, M/M, Other, Overstimulation, Virtual Reality, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 08:51:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17321834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: There are two Amandas. And they like to be entertained.





	et soupire, tour à tour

**Author's Note:**

> for sana, who had an idea that deserved to end happily.
> 
> if you think "amandos" is a reference to GLADOS, thank you for assuming i'm hip and cool. I just used "dos." as in. two.
> 
> title from the doll song from the opera the tales of hoffmann, which is what i imagined them to be playing.

He hadn’t even considered it as a possibility. It had been nearly a year and a half since the revolution, since he had met his… replacement, and yet the thought had never even passed his mind.

It had started with some kind of off-color joke from Gavin, about a disturbed, scarred android they had picked up for harassing passersby downtown, about “voices in your head.” Hank had waved him off, insisted that everyone had voices in their heads. Connor, hoping to lighten the mood, had wryly noted that he only had the one voice, but she was difficult enough to deal with.

Nines’ fingers had frozen mid-word in the report he was typing out. He had slowly glanced over at Connor, eyes wide, and asked, “Do you have Amanda, too?”

-

Before he met her for the first time, he had wondered if she would be different than his own Amanda. Would she be like Nines: taller, broad shouldered, even more emotionless? Would she look softer, gentler, smile more often-- more like him?

In the end, he was wrong on all accounts: she looked exactly the same, from her face to her mannerisms to the exact tone of her voice. Perhaps that was one thing Kamski couldn’t bring himself to improve upon.

When they finally brought everyone together—using a deeper form of interfacing, mixed with stasis, that involved direct connection with their respective mind palaces—neither had been very surprised. Though Connor’s Amanda said decisively that she had no idea she was included in the set of features Kamski had kept in the RK900 upgrades, she agreed with Nines’ Amanda (Connor, somewhat irreverently, mentally referred to her as Amandos) that it was a logical enough decision.

“It was certainly the finest feature of the previous RK model,” Amandos had said, giving a ghostly hint of a smile that was mirrored by her counterpart. Connor and Nines glanced at each other sideways.

They liked being around each other, and since both Connor and Nines liked to please them, they often spent one or two weekends a month, and scattered days off, sitting together on the couch in Nines’ small apartment, facing each other, hands clasped and forearms pressed together. Gavin had walked in on them, once, bringing over the old TV set he’d promised to deliver. “It was really fucking creepy,” he had declared, and even though they spent hours that next day at work trying to convince him, he could not be swayed from his belief that it was some kind of “freaky robot sex thing.”

It hadn’t been. Not at first.

The Amandas didn’t like them to be “idle,” as they called it, during the visits. The first few times, they merely acted as silent assistants: carrying their pruning shears, pouring their tea. Then, they turned to performance, entertainment. As they chatted or tended the garden, Connor and Nines would sit nearby, one playing a tune on a provided shamisen, the other singing along—they’d switch. One day, Amanda raised her hand to silence them. She glanced at Amandos, and a silent conversation seemed to happen between them before she turned to meet their curious gazes.

“Kiss him,” she said, simply.

Connor opened his mouth to speak, to question. Nines took him by the chin and kissed him.

-

“Connor.”

He opened his eyes.

“Keep your back straight.”

He blinked, slowly. “Yes, Amanda.”

He wasn’t sure which one had said it. They were about ten feet away from them, about halfway through a brutal match of mahjong. The clack of tiles and soft hum of conversation was barely audible over the humming of his thirium pump and the squelch of eight loads of cum being fucked into his hole.

He had slipped forward onto his elbows at some point, but managed, with shaking arms, to push himself back onto his palms. They liked the elegant planes of their bodies to be accentuated, and for that, they needed to keep as still and as straight as possible. Nines was much better at it than he was; his body barely moved besides the violent pistoning of his hips. When they criticized Nines, it was for letting out stray moans and cries, for letting his face fall from its stoic expression into bit lips and flushed cheeks, for letting his grip on Connor’s hips get too hard and leave streaks of white plastic in his flesh.

He had come many times, and would come many times more before it was finished; Connor, on the other hand, would only get the one, and it would come when they decided it would. Something about the mind palace gave them utter control over that part of them. And they kept going back.

There was a burst of heat inside him, and he felt Nines’ grip slacken and fall away, the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor. He wanted to turn his head, to see what had happened to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

With a great sigh, Amandos rose from her lattice back chair and crossed towards them. “Now, RK900,” she said, her smile audible in her tone. “Is that really the best you can do? I thought you said deviancy hadn’t altered your stamina.” There was a vague groan in reply.

Fingers nudged his chin, and he found himself facing Amanda, who kneeled off to the side of him. She stared at him impassively, idly running a thumb over his kiss-stung lower lip. “Would you like to come, Connor?” she asked, as casually as she had instructed him before the revolution.

He couldn’t speak. He felt his hole, gaped and dripping, try and fail to clench around nothing. He managed nothing more than a slight nod and a pleading expression.

She pressed her thumb into his mouth. “Then come.”

-

It was dark outside, when he opened his eyes; he could see stars through the open curtains, and his internal chronometer told him it was just after midnight. He watched Nines struggle to bring himself fully out of stasis; he stroked his arm gently until his eyes managed to open.

“I always feel so tired after,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

Connor nodded sympathetically, crossing his legs in an attempt to ease the discomfort of the soaked spot on the front of his jeans. They would, most likely, enter stasis again together, on that very couch: dreamless, deep, and alone together.


End file.
